Piece of Mind
by WeBuiltThePyramids
Summary: A young woman in Massachusetts is dying of a brain tumor and her brother believes he has discovered a way to save her-with the use of an artifact believed to be safely guarded in a museum at Harvard. All main characters appear. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**It's my first try at writing a multi-chapter episode style Warehouse 13 fic. This won't be like an episode in the sense of how many scenes or chapters will be in it, but it is artifact fic. **

**Disclaimer/Warnings: I don't own Warehouse 13 or anything related to it. I don't ship Myka/HG or Myka/Pete so there will be no romance in this fic, just the usual Warehouse family dynamics (to the best of my writing ability).**

"How on Earth are you planning on removing the tumor when the best doctors in the world have said that there is nothing that they can do? You are the most intelligent man I have ever known, but you are no brain surgeon."

Amy was surprised at the way her brother had changed of late. He'd spent the last month tirelessly hitting the books, searching the internet, and traveling to speak with respected professionals in the medical field, but there was always a hint of desperation in his eyes; no matter how much he claimed that he was confidant, he _would_ find a way to get help, there was always that back – of – the – mind thought that the dozens of doctors were right, that there was nothing that could be done, that death was fast upon the youngest member of their trio.

But then, just days before, Logan had changed. It was subtle, had she not known him so well she might not have noticed it at all, but now when he faced her, took her by the shoulders and told her that he _would_ save their sister, that hint of fear in his eyes was gone, and it was replaced by a fiery determination that told Amy that something had happened to make him truly believe that now it was only a matter of time before Margaret was well again.

"How on God's green Earth are you expecting to save our sister when everyone else has tried and failed?" She said to her brother's back. "You are a historian, Logan Winter."

Logan turned sideways and looked halfway over his shoulder at her. "Yes, yes, I am a historian, and my time in university gave me great knowledge of historical events, historical miracles, even, and in my studies I've found that many events have taken place which never should have occurred, and many events are said to have never occurred, but if one looks closely enough, evidence suggests that the events did in fact occur, events that are said to have transpired only in fiction!"

Amy looked at her brother in horror. "You are going to attempt to save Margaret's life using some technique you saw in a movie? They make things up in movies, trying to imitate some medical miracle you saw on the big screen is going to kill Margaret faster than the tumor, and will probably cause her more suffering…"

Her brother put a finger to her lips to silence her, and then drew his overcoat aside to reveal what he had tucked along his pant leg. Being well educated herself, Amy did not have to look too closely to understand what exactly her brother had obtained.

Her eyes widened. "But that is supposed to be at Harvard!"

Logan shrugged and gave a small smile. "If something doesn't appear to be missing, why would one investigate it?"

"Logan Winter, if word gets out that you have stolen…"

"Word is not going to get out," he said sharply. "No one knows that I have it but you. And I'm going to use it to save Margaret."

"How?" Amy said, her tone demanding that he explain not only to her but to himself. "How is this going to save Margaret?"

"It has powers," Logan said, _his_ tone terrifying his sister. "I've tested it. It works beyond what it is known for. It will remove the tumor and leave Margaret intact. Then she can come home, Amy. Then she can come home."

**I try to update regularly, and I am on semester break now, so hopefully I can get an update in the next two or three days. I love reviews (who doesn't) and HAPPY APOCALYPSE, EVERYONE! ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**And it's update time! I appreciate those of you who reviewed chapter one – my wonderful bestie amtrak12 and snoble24 and curiositycollection – and for reading a fic that is so clearly stated to be not of the shipper type! As someone who has written over 120 fanfictions, and who has read quite a bit of them as well, I know that general relationship fics aren't nearly as popular, so glad that my premise is interesting you all enough! I hope it continues to hold your attention. Here's chapter two – the first chapter with our Warehouse crew!**

**I still don't own anything, and no, that rhyme was not intentional. :P**

* * *

Pete Lattimer bounded into the dining room at the bed and breakfast in a good mood. He'd slept well, was still on a high from scaring Steve Jinks and making him scream like a girl the evening before, and he smelled food. Mostly the last one – he could be in a horrible mood and the smell of food would cheer him up.

His grin faded, hesitantly, when he saw Myka and Claudia, already in the dining room, look up at him in sync the instant the door opened. "Hey…guys…" he said, cocking his head slightly to the left. "Whaaaaat's going on?"

"Pete," Myka said, "these pranks of yours have got to stop."

"What pranks?" he asked innocently.

"Well," Myka said, "I spent nearly an hour last night fixing the mess you made next to the Christmas aisle…"

Claudia jumped in, "One of those artifacts combined with your little prank on Jinksy has left him in the second half of twenty four hours with a voice high pitched enough to give me a headache and to drive Trailer crazy…"

"And," Myka finished, "No matter how much you clean and talk to the stove, it is not going to turn into an artifact that continually makes cookies so all you're doing is making us _really_ concerned about your sanity."

"And Warehouse agents don't have a great sanity record," Claudia added.

"Come on, Claude," Pete said. "Steve's voice is a _little_ bit funny."

"I like pranks as much as the next guy," Claudia said, "but Steve sounds _ridiculous,_ and you can't tell me you didn't hear Trailer barking at him all night. It'd at least be better if it had been some sort of dog whistle artifact that we couldn't hear."

"I'm…sorry guys," Pete said slowly. "I'm just trying to have a little fun."

"Try to have fun not at the expense of our sleeping habits," Myka said. "Especially when we got so little last night cleaning up after your little artifact party over by Christmas. You're lucky none of those things were _really_ dangerous."

"Lucky?" Pete asked, raising his eyebrows. "Ah, excuse me," he said in a tone intending to lighten the mood, "but I know just as much about those artifacts as you; I wouldn't mess around with the really dangerous ones…"

"What about-" Claudia started.

"That was not entirely my fault!" Pete said, pointing at her in defense.

"Okay, well explain…" Myka began.

"That was one time, and we were new!"

Myka looked like she was going to protest, and then nodded. "Fair enough."

"I don't know, I just get bored when the artifacts on the outside behave themselves," Pete said. "We don't have anything real to do, no crazy missions to go on, no new item to bring back and store. And…well…the artifacts have been behaving themselves recently."

"It appears that they may have gotten _bored_ _of behaving themselves_," Artie said entering the room with a folder. "Just like Pete."

"Oooh," Claudia said. "Pete's an artifact!"

"Pete's an artifact!" Myka repeated, pointing at her partner and grinning.

Pete held his hands up. "If you can come up with a downside to…" he gestured vaguely to his entire body, "this, then I will accept the probability of me being an artifact. No? Nothing?"

"Oh please," Myka said, "I couldn't count on both hands the number of…"

"Ahem!"

The three younger agents fell silent and looked at Artie, who raised an eyebrow for effect and gave them a brief stare down before continuing. "Cambridge, Massachusetts. The City of Squares. Twenty one year old cashier reported seeing a man come through checkout with a gaping hole in his wrist.

"A self – harmer?" Myka asked.

"She apparently says that he had a hold of about one inch in diameter through his wrist; she could see through it clear as day. When she asked him about it he made sure his sleeve fell far enough down to cover the hole and pretended that he didn't know what she was talking about. There were no other signs of self – harm that she could see, and as this isn't a usual form of punishment, or a usual form of _anything_, we are called to investigate."

"So either this guy has taken stigmata to a whole new level," Claudia said, "or he has some artifact that allows him to punch holes in his wrists and not die? Why would something like that even exist?"

"If I knew the details," Artie said, "I would be sending Pete and Myka to simply obtain the artifact and not do an investigation into what exactly it is and why this man has used it – and what he's planning on using it for in the future." He handed Myka the folder. "Tickets to Cambridge are inside. Good luck."

"What do I get to do?" Claudia asked.

"You," Artie said, "get to get Trailer away from Steve's door, convince him that yelling at me to let him out isn't going to do anything because hearing more of that voice is just making my migraine worse, and then get started on research as to what this artifact could be. Hopefully retrieving Trailer and getting Agent Jinks to shut up won't take longer than it takes these two to get to Cambridge."

* * *

**That one was a little longer than the previous chapter, and I think the next one will be longer still. Expect most chapters to be between one and two thousand words, I don't like publishing 500 word chapters on a regular basis because I don't think anything can really get done in that amount of time, and I don't like going upwards of 2.5 to 3K because then if a reader doesn't have a lot of time, they might feel overwhelmed by the fic. Anyway, that's the end of my babbling, hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So it turns out it's hard to write at home because your family doesn't give you the quiet needed and you can't just drown out their talking like you can at school. But enough of me making excuses, here's the next chapter. Sorry for the wait!**

"So who is this we're talking to?" Pete asked as he and Myka entered the supermarket.

"Lidia Behrens," Myka said. "She's the one who saw a guy come through with the quarter sized hole in his wrist. You were supposed to call her manager and arrange for her to be available to talk to us."

Pete looked offended at Myka's implication. "I called him!"

"Lidia's a woman."

"Uh, her manager isn't," Pete said in his best sassy tone.

Myka shook her head. "Right."

"Are you okay?" Pete asked. "You usually don't forget details like that."

"I never _knew_ that detail," Myka pointed out. "You snatched the folder and took off yelling about being the Gingerbread Man. I didn't chase you because you're encouraged enough already."

"Oh my gosh!" A thin woman, with hair so light it appeared white, came over to them. "Are you the Secret Service agents?"

"Is your hair white?"

"We are. I'm Agent Bering and this is my partner, Agent Lattimer. Are you Lidia Behrens?" Myka asked, jamming her elbow discreetly into Pete's ribs.

"Yes I am," she said. "And yes, my hair is white, my boyfriend says it looks good but his mother says I look like a freak. Oh my gosh, I'm rambling. I ramble. I'm sorry, this is so freaky, I've never met such intense police before. We can talk in my manager's office. I have some really freaky things to tell you. It's over here – it's this way." She motioned for them to follow her, heading down the line of cash registers.

"Well, we'll follow you, then…" Pete said, matching Myka's stride. "She's a bit freaky-"

"Don't."

* * *

"So, Ms. Behrens," Myka said, sitting in front of a paper cluttered desk, "tell me about your encounter with this guy."

"Well, I had gotten in for the midday shift," Lidia said, "I used to work the night shift, but walking home at night was just really freaky, so I switched like two weeks ago to midday because it lets me sleep in the morning and I don't have to walk home in the dark, and with Daylight Savings Time that can just…"

"Lidia," Myka said. "Can I call you Lidia?"

"Sure thing, Agent," Lidia said. "It is my name, after all."

"Okay Lidia," Myka said, "If you could get to the point, that would be great."

"Sorry," Lidia said. "This guy comes up, and when he went to swipe his card, I saw that he had a hole right here." She flipped her left arm so it was palm up, and traced a circle in the middle of her wrist. "It went clear through, neatly, so I could see light through it from the other side. It was really – "

"Freaky, yeah, we get it," Pete said. "Did you say anything to him?"

"How could I not?" She said. "I kinda jumped when I saw it. I asked him if he was okay, and he said he was fine, and covered the hole up with his sleeve. He pretended to be confused as to why I was asking."

"Like he thought having a hole there was normal?"

"No…" Lidia cocked her head. "Like I was seeing things. Like there wasn't a hole there at all. But there was; I'm sure there was. He just really didn't want me to acknowledge it."

"Interesting," Myka said, nodding slowly. "Did he have anything on him, like something old? Something that looked out of place?"

"He was wearing a big jacket," Lidia said. "The kind that hangs really low, down to his knees. But I don't think it was old. He didn't have any freaky medallions on him or anything like that, if that's what you mean."

Myka and Pete glanced at each other. "Okay then," Pete said. "Thank you for your time, we'll be in contact with you if we have any follow up questions."

"Is your manager around?" Myka asked. "We'll need to check surveillance tapes and cross reference the times with credit card purchases to figure out who this guy is."

"He's on his lunch break," Lidia said. "But he gave me permission to let you guys look at our records."

* * *

Logan Winter studied the photographs of his sister's brain, tracing various paths through her skull with his finger, all passing through the location of the tumor.

_Impossible to remove,_ the doctors said.

_Too connected to the brain, _the doctors said.

There had been medical miracles before. The object he held concealed under his coat was responsible for one of them, over one hundred and fifty years ago. And soon, tonight if possible, tomorrow at the latest, it would be responsible for another one.

A sudden rush of lightheadedness made Winter close his eyes and place a hand over his face – his right hand; his left was aching from the wound, slightly swollen, slightly discolored now.

But that didn't mean anything. With a wound like this, Logan Winter wasn't even supposed to be alive. He could deal with a little pain, especially since the pain was proof that this iron was capable of saving Margaret.

When the light headedness passed, Logan slipped his hand inside his coat and closed his fingers around the cool iron, and ran his hand up to the rounded top. No one even knew it was missing.

He looked out the window and smiled. And by the time they did figure it out – he knew they would, it was inevitable once his deed was done – no one would care. His sister would be alive because of his ingenious actions. He would be a hero.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it's been so long since I updated! (Working on getting you that 'chunk of chapters', Amber!) There will probably be two more after this, possibly three, it will depend on how things fall. So here you go with chapter four – the artifact is being revealed, which should explain the at – first – glance misspelling in the title.**

**Oh, and I still don't own anything. ;)**

"Pete? Myka?" Artie squinted. "What have you found out? Please tell me this is good news."

"We need Claudia to run some information for us," Pete said. "Anything she can dig up on a Logan Winter. He's the guy that the cashier saw with the hole in his wrist."

"You're absolutely sure?" Artie said.

"We ran his credit card," Myka said.

"Claudia!" Artie called.

"I thought she was back with Trailer and Steve."

"Oh. Right." Artie's face disappeared from the screen of the Tesla.

"Artie?"

"Would you two hold on? I'm getting my phone."

"Okay, give, give Claudia the name and have her call us!" Pete yelled.

"Pete," Myka said. "Just because he's out of site doesn't mean that he can't hear us."

Pete cleared his throat. "Sorry."

"So Claudia will call us with the information on Logan, and we'll figure out what he's using."

"An artifact that could let you have a hole in your wrist and not die," Pete said, shaking his head. "All I'm getting is stigmata."

"I don't know of any stigmata artifact," Myka said, shaking her head.

"Oh," Pete said, "I hope it's not one of those recently self-created artifacts, ugh, those are so much harder!"

"Quit whining," Myka said. "But I'm with you," she mumbled under her breath.

"In all seriousness though," Pete said, "I don't know of any wrist artifacts. Or gaping hole artifacts."

"Has anyone ever miraculously survived being stabbed in the wrist?" Myka asked.

"Did they try to kill that creepy medicine man that worked with the last Russian Tsar's kid by stabbing him in the wrist?" Pete said thoughtfully, cocking his head.

"Khionia Guseva stabbed him in the gut, Pete!" Myka said excitedly, "you're right! Oh," she said, her excitement fading, "but he only survived after surgery. So unless the surgeon was using something, I don't think we're looking at the end of the Romanov era for our artifact."

"Hmm." Pete thought, shaking his head. "I don't know then."

They stood in silence for a minute or two, thinking without much success, and then the Tesla activated, and Myka held it out. "Claude?"

"Hey," she said, "so I put the name that Artie gave me into a few places, and I found out Logan Winter? Not great at parking legally. Also he has a twenty four year old sister who is in hospice for a brain tumor. I think that's probably more relevant to your quest than the parking tickets. Her name is Margaret, and apparently Logan's been dedicating his life to finding a way to help her, despite everyone and their mother saying that there's nothing that they can do."

"Interesting," Pete said, nodding. "Any idea what the artifact could be?"

"Something to remove the tumor, I'm guessing," Claudia said. "And probably a way to remove it that involves pushing it out with a sharp object instead of dissolving it or making it magically disappear, considering what he's done to his wrist."

"Can that be done with a brain?" Pete asked.

"He must think so," Claudia said.

Myka, her hands on her hips, tapped her foot as she thought. "Claudia! What was the name of that railroad worker, from, from, like the 1840s who blew a spike or something through his head?"

"What?" Pete asked.

"Ooh," Claudia said, her eyes lighting up, "you, Myka, speak of Phineas Gage, born around 1823, died at age thirty six, twelve years after a tamping iron shot through his head while he worked as a foreman at the railroad. After Gage's accident he shocked everyone who heard the story just by being alive. It really was a fascinating incident, and it showed that you can survive with damages to the brain. In Gage's case, some of his brains fell right out of his head after…"

"Yeah, got it, thanks Claude." Pete interrupted, looking at his partner. "So we're looking for a…a what was it? A tamping iron?"

"This can't be it," Myka said, glancing from Pete to Claudia. "That iron is in a museum at Harvard, people see it every day, and as far as I know, it's not missing."

"I'm just telling you what the info says," Claudia said. "You draw your own conclusions. Now listen, I've been reading some Revenge fanfiction to Steve to annoy him, since he can't go anywhere right now, so if you don't need me anymore…"

"We'll call you if we do," Pete said. "Myka." He shook his head. "I've got a good feeling about this Phineas Gage thing."

"Pete, the iron is at Harvard," Myka said.

"And where is Harvard?" Pete said, cocking his head.

She cocked her head. "A little too close to here for me to be convinced of a coincidence without going there and taking a look at the iron."

Pete held out his arm. "After you."

* * *

"I still don't understand why the secret service needs to look at this," said the little man who led them toward the exhibit. "It's been in our hands ever since 1868."

"We'd just like to see it," Pete said. "And then we'll get out of your hair."

"Well, I appreciate you coming after hours," the small man, who said they could call him Young, said as they reached the exhibit.

"Well his head is certainly preserved," Pete commented upon regarding the oddly white head sitting in the case.

"That's a mold, idiot," Myka said. "Then that right there is Gage's skull."

"And this is the iron?" Pete said, pointing.

"You're a sharp one," Young said, snapping his fingers. "No pun intended, of course."

"May I?" Myka said, and Young nodded. She lifted the iron and studied it; it appeared to be the right size and weight from what she'd seen on her phone on the drive over.

"See, if you tilt it right like that," Young said, "you can read the inscription."

"Oh, here, I see," Myka said. "_This is the bar that was shot through the head of Mr. Phinehas P. Gage at Cavendish, Vermont, September thirteenth, 1848. He fully recovered from the injury & deposited this bar in the Museum of the Medical College of Harvard University. Phinehas P. Gage Lebanon Grafton Cy N-H January sixth, 1850_."

"September fourteenth," Young said.

"Hmmm?" Myka asked.

"September fourteenth is the date on the iron. The thirteenth is the actual date of the accident, but the irnscription incorrectly says it was the following day."

"Oh." Myka squinted at the rod. "Oh yes, the fourteenth." She set the object back down next to Gage's skull. "Thank you for your time," she said, extending a hand to Young. "Pete?"

"Coming," he said, falling into step beside her.

"Have a good night," Young said. "You sure you can show yourselves out?"

"Absolutely," Myka said, turning around and smiling at him. "Thank you very much."

* * *

"Well, that was a wash, huh?" Pete lamented as they exited the museum.

"Winter has the artifact," Myka said.

"He…Mykes, we just saw it right in there."

Myka stopped and faced him. "The iron said September thirteenth, Pete."

"You didn't misread it?"

"I grew up in a bookstore, Pete, I don't misread things."

Pete nodded in agreement. "True. So if the actual iron said the wrong date of September fourteenth, but this iron says the right date of September thirteenth, which is actually the wrong date for the iron, September fourteenth being the right day for the iron, that iron had the wrong correct date."

"Yes!" Myka said. "Logan must have taken the real one and replaced it with a fake. Which means he must be planning on using it to remove the tumor from Margaret Winter's brain!"

"But…" Pete jumped into a jog to keep up as Myka abruptly turned and marched toward the car. "But Gage's injury…doesn't modern science say that he really would have survived it? That means his tamping iron isn't an artifact. He just got lucky."

"Then explain the hole in Logan Winter's wrist," Myka said simply.

"He tested it!" Pete said, the expression on Myka's face showing him that they'd come to the conclusion at the exact moment. "He wasn't sure if Gage survived because of where the iron went through his head, _or_ if he would have survived anyway but the iron just _happened_ to impale his face in a way that he could have survived anyway!"

"And Logan was fine enough to go shopping," Myka said, "so now he's going to try and save his sister!"

"Claudia," Pete said, to the Tesla as the duo ran toward the car. "Claudia, I need you to tell me where Margaret Winter is living, ASAP!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the last chapter. I hope those of you that read this enjoyed it, I know it's not as easy to get into a fic with no pairings, but I think if you squint you could take some shippiness from this chapter for several different potential pairings.**

Logan Winter stepped into the elevator and the doors closed him in. Using one hand to adjust the position of the tamping iron in his coat, he reached with his other hand to press the button. The motion sent a pain shooting through the area, and he groaned slightly while using his other, good hand to select the second floor.

_I should have walked._ But that wouldn't have made much difference either. The repetitive motion of climbing stairs would be too much for his hand. The impalement hadn't seemed to have caused him the slightest harm in the beginning minus some inevitable pain from driving the tamping rod clear through his wrist, but now there was swelling and discoloration and his hand was stiffening up as if he had tetanus. He couldn't have tetanus. He was up to date on the shot.

He would go and get treatment after he helped Margaret. It was too risky now, having to come up with an explanation for his injury. If he did it afterward, even if the doctors knew the cause, it wouldn't matter. Margaret's tumor would be gone and they could arrest him or ridicule him or do whatever else they wanted, because she would be all right. And that was all that mattered, doing what was best for his little sister.

The bell dinged, signaling the arrival of the elevator to the second floor. Logan repositioned his hand so it wouldn't look suspicious and headed down the hall, smiling at one of the nurses he was familiar with, and then entered Margaret's room. "Hey there."

* * *

"Go, go go go!" Myka shouted, a half step behind Pete as the duo bolted toward the hospital doors.

"Me go? You're behind me!" Pete yelled back.

Myka reached out and grabbed his sleeve, hauling herself forward and ahead of him.

"Hey!" Pete said, reaching out to use her own trick against her.

"Oh, stop being childish," Myka said. "This'll slow us down!"

"But…but you just…" Pete gave up, running after Myka. "They should have more parking up close."

Pete and Myka entered the hospital, showing their badges to the nurses as they darted down the hall. "You know where Meredith Winter is?" Pete asked.

"Room 302," Myka said.

"Wait, we know the room number?"

"Claudia's good," Myka said, slowing slightly to take the stairs two at a time. "Okay," she said, taking a moment to catch her breath, "here we are."

Pete pushed the door open. "Winter! Stop!"

"Logan, you don't want to do this!" Myka said at the same time. Logan Winter was standing over a pale form in the hospital bed, cleaning a spot on her head. "Logan," Myka said, raising the Tesla. She was hesitant to fire lest Logan fall atop his dying sister, but hopefully it would buy her time. "Think about this very carefully."

"Oh, I have," Logan said, drawing out the tamping iron from his coat, cringing as he did so, and holding it out. "I'm going to save her."

"No," Pete said. "No, you're not. It doesn't work."

"Oh ho ho!" Logan said, wincing again as he held out his mutilated arm. "But it does!"

"Logan, that wrist is infected," Pete said. "You probably have gangrene."

"Oh my gosh," Myka said. "That's what the artifact does!"

"What?" Pete asked.

"What?" Came a voice from the pale figure in the bed.

"Logan," Myka said. "The tamping iron didn't kill Phineas Gage. He could function well enough without it to live, but he did die at a really young age. The tamping iron doesn't kill you. It keeps you alive long enough to die from something else. Gage had seizures related to his railroad incident. You aren't dying from damaged arteries in your wrist, but you will die of gangrene if you don't get help. Margaret? She'll be the same as Gage. You can get the tumor out of her head, but she'll end up with some other infection, or a seizure, and it'll kill her."

"Everyone is going to die at some point," Logan said, anger and desperation evident on his sweaty face. "At least I can give her a few more years!" He raised the tamping rod over Margaret's head, and Pete aimed his Tesla.

"Don't."

The voice was small, but they all heard it. Pete didn't lower the Tesla, and neither did Myka, but they glanced at each other and then looked back at the Winter siblings.

Logan was looking down at his sister. "Don't what?"

She shook her head, her thin black hair moving with the motion. "Don't remove the tumor."

"Margaret," he said, putting a hand on her arm, still holding the tamping iron up. "I can save you."

"No you can't," Margaret said. "Even if it works, it'll only buy me a couple of years. Then I'll die of something else. You heard them."

"You believe what they say?" Logan said, his body beginning to shake, as his gaze strayed from his sister momentarily to look at Pete and Myka. "Over me?"

"I didn't hear you deny that I'll only have a few more years," Margaret said. Her hand came up and momentarily rested against her brother's stomach. "I'm going to die. I've made peace with it. If I'm going to get my life back, I'd rather get it back with the promise of a long life that could end in old age than just another stolen year. I don't want to have to make peace with it again. It took too much energy to make peace with it this time."

"Logan," Myka said. "Give us the tamping iron."

"And get help for your wrist," Pete said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's starting to stink."

"Logan, give it to them," Margaret said. "I don't want it."

Logan looked painfully down at his sister, then put a hand over the spot where he was going to drive the tamping iron. He closed his eyes and extended the rod, in his injured hand, out toward the secret service agents.

Myka stepped forward and took it. Logan winter fell to his knees and cried.

* * *

"Hey hey!" Claudia said cheerfully when Pete and Myka arrived back at the Warehouse. "Look who's home!"

"And look who is out of solitary confinement!" Pete said when Steve turned around in his chair to smile at them.

"Out of confinement and all caught up on Revenge fanfiction," Steve said, raising an eyebrow toward Claudia.

"I read him some smut," Claudia whispered to Pete.

"All right!" he said approvingly, raising his hand for a high five.

"So where's the tamping iron?" Steve asked.

"Back in Harvard, where it belongs," Myka said. "No one knew it was missing, so they plan to just act as if it never happened. And as it wasn't causing a problem on its own, there was no need to bring it back."

"It's on our list, though," Pete said. "We'll be keeping an eye on it."

"What's going to happen to that girl?" Claudia asked.

"Well," Myka said, "she doesn't have very long to live. But, you know? She's okay with it. She understands that she's going to die and she's made her peace. Hopefully knowing that will help her brother make peace with it, too."

Pete sighed. "Cases like these bum me out a little. You know?"

Myka put her arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, I know. But sometimes using artifacts to try and prevent – or undo – someone's death…it just makes it worse."

"I know," Pete said, leaning on her slightly. "But still. It's still death. We see too much death around here."

"Hey now!" Claudia said, raising her hands. "We're not allowed to get sad right now." She looked around and then grinned, skipping over to Steve and putting her hands on his shoulders as he sat in the stairs. "Sometimes things do work out? See?" She gestured to Steve. "Exhibit A."

Steve smiled. "I love being used as the example arguing that that guy _should_ have stabbed his sister in the head."

"Aww," Claudia said, bending over to hug him around the neck.

"Oh good, you're home," Artie said, shuffling into the room. "Everything taken care of?"

"Yes, Artie, sir!" Pete said, saluting.

"Good. Good." Artie looked at the women and Steve. "All right, lock him up."

"What?" Pete looked around, surprised, as Myka moved her arm from his shoulder to grab his arm tightly, and Claudia took up the same role on his other side. Steve darted around them to open the door. "What is this?"

"This," Myka said as she and Claudia pushed him toward the room that had held Steve capture while his voice was high pitched, "is payback for all your pranks."

Grinning, Steve held open the door, and after Myka and Claudia shoved the still protesting Pete inside, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, using his weight to prevent Pete from attempting to escape while Myka locked the door.

"Hey!" Pete said. "Hey! This isn't fair!"

Artie, having turned around to watch, chuckled. Myka and Steve high fived, and then they took their turns high fiving Claudia.

"And now," Myka said taking a magazine from Claudia and opening it as the three of them settled down in front of the door. "We're going to look at these pictures of scantily clad ladies."

"What?"

"Check her out!" Claudia said. "The skin tone, the hair, the…"

"Ugggh," came Pete's voice, immediately preceding a pounding on the door. "You guys are being so mean, stop it!"

"Oh, look at the knockers on that one!" Steve said, pointing.

"H-hey!" Pete protested. "You – you can't even appreciate those! _None_ of you can appreciate those!"

"Hmm, not bad," Claudia said. "Though I have to say, I like this one's body type more."

"I'm with you, Claudia," Myka said, nodding, making sure her voice was loud enough for Pete to hear.

"Myka," Pete said indignantly. "If you go gay on me I won't be able to make any Bering Strait jokes!"

"And what if I go gay on you?" Claudia asked, tipping her head toward the door. "Oooh, look at the hips on this lady."

"Who would you go gay for, Claudia?" Pete asked. "Steve?"

"What?" Steve said. "That doesn't even make sense!"

From a few yards away, Artie watched their little game for another moment or two, and then chuckled again, rolled his eyes, and walked away.

**So there, I know I said there'd be at least two chapters left, but I just combined the home stuff with the case stuff. That way you won't have to wait on me to update again.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed it! I'd been wanting to write Phineas Gage artifact fic for quite some time.**


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